A few days ago I was reading my new book, The 8th Habit by Stephen R Covey, and I came across a part in it that talked about a concept his son, Stephen MR Covey, had come up with called The Speed of Trust. I became intrigued with this concept once I read the principles behind it and behind trust itself.
If we trust ourselves, we tend to trust others. When we trust someone, inherently and deeply trust them, it matters not what they say, we don't immediately question it as being wrong, because we trust them. Trust is that fast. It works in the blink of an eye, or less. When it is broken, I was surprised to read, it can be gained back again. I've often wondered about that. How many times can someone break our trust before we never wholly trust them again? There is the rule of threes. It is a universal law and has these variations:
~Spirit warns you twice, the third time you stand alone.
~Once is chance, twice is coincidence, three times is a pattern.
~Give benefit of the doubt twice, the third time it happens, you know that something is off base and you can no longer give the benefit of the doubt.
I was gazing across the field a few minutes ago and saw the peak of a white clapboard house with a green roof, the typical early 1900s style of house that looks so serene in the backdrop of bright burnished oranges and reds of autumn. It gave me peace.
Sometimes my life can seem like so much brilliance surrounding me....just like the post I wrote the other day. Then a new day will start and it seems like one thing after another goes wrong. All these tests coming at me faster than I can barely gather my breath to face the next one.
Usually what I do when I have a lot of things to deal with, is try my best to be soulful and look outside a lot at gulls and listen to the crows. Somehow they already know all the answers and I draw strength from them.
They just are. They don't worry over notices on real estate dealings and calls from distraught buyers agents and they never seem to worry all that much over the state of human relationships.
They're too busy just flying around calling out to all of their friends with all of the wispy breezes ruffling their feathers and rough bark beneath their scaly little toes when they decide to stand on a branch for awhile and gaze around.
What do you think they're all thinking about? Probably nothing. And that's the beauty of being a bird. They don't have to think, they just let the thoughts flow into them from the ether. I often try to do that too. It works, it really works.
This morning the sun is shining again and things are
righting themselves. I know who I love. I know who I
care for. I know who I would give my life for, if it was mine to give.
My life isn't mine to give. It belongs to the great mystery, to the universe. The universe decides my path and where I am needed next. I just follow along and do the best I can with what I have. That's all we can really do. Anything beyond that just gets mixed up on the journey and we end up going down the wrong road and then have to start out all over again, only this time perhaps our feet are a bit rougher and can take the rugged path and our eyes are a bit keener for spotting the pitfalls along the way.
Through it all, the wrong roads, which turn out to be the right roads as they give us gifts we carry back with us to the fork, we become more vulnerable and yet stronger. We learn who we are. What our limitations are, where we can stretch further, where we can't. Where we're supposed to hang on, where we're supposed to let go .
I guess they call that wisdom.
Jo-Anne Smith, the author of this article, is a REALTOR® with Royal Lepage Proalliance Realty, Brokerage, in Belleville, Ontario and welcomes your real estate inquiries. To contact her, visit www.QuinteRegionRealEstate.com